


A Temporary Surrender: Not Goodbye, Just 'Til Tuesday

by Minxie



Series: A Temporary Surrender [7]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: KINKS: D/s, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-11
Updated: 2011-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-15 13:50:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I'm the one you hit your knees for. I'm the one you beg for and the one you cry for. I'm the one you trust with those things, with the side of you no one else even believes exists."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Temporary Surrender: Not Goodbye, Just 'Til Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> **Prereaders:** vlredreign and thraceadams  
>  **Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction using names and faces associated with actual trufax people. I do not know these people in any way, shape, or form outside of what they show the public. Which, IMO, is a very sucky thing. Just sayin'.  
>  **AN:** Written in response to [this](http://community.livejournal.com/glam_kink/1444.html?thread=1238948#t1238948) glam_kink prompt. And, yes, I took the prompt and put my spin on it. *facepalm* So, yeah, hope it's what the OP was looking for.

Adam wakes with an extra blanket spread over him and the sun glinting off the ocean. Stretching, arms high over his head and legs locked straight, Adam groans as his back snaps and pops its way into place. He always hurts, is stiff and sore, after sleeping on the damn chaise. Always.

But he keeps doing it. Every single time he comes to Damien, he spends one night on the beach. A tradition. A ritual. Necessary even in all its simplicity.

Sitting up, his eye catches on a folded paper, stuffed under the corner of the lounge cushion and fluttering in the morning breeze. He grins as he reads the words – _Soon as you're done communing with nature, come inside. I'm making omelets for breakfast._ – and starts folding the blankets, hungrier than he'd thought.

The house smells like bacon and coffee. Adam takes a deep breath, embarrassed when his stomach growls loud over the slamming of the screen door.

"Shower, but make it quick." Damien slides a tray of biscuits into the oven. "Omelets are going in the pan soon."

"I can shower after..." He's really hungry and Damien makes the best omelets ever.

"Nope." Damien points over his shoulder. "I'm sure that chaise did wonders for your back. Hot shower first, there'll be no bitching and whining at my kitchen table."

"Am I that predictable?"

Damien gives Adam a look, one equal parts amusement and exasperation. "Yes." Then, making a shooing motion with one hand, he adds, "Go."

Adam goes, but only after sticking his tongue out at Damien.

* * *

His backpack is by the door, phone is shoved in the front pocket of his denims, keys are hanging out of his back pocket. Rocking up on his toes, Adam cuts a glance at Damien. "So."

"Don't you start that shit, Lambert."

Adam laughs softly. "Right."

Damien pulls Adam into a hug. "Got a plan?"

"Go out some, move into my new place." Adam curls his fingers into Damien's shirt. "Hang out with some friends."

"Good. I think you need that." Damien rubs a hand down Adam's back. "And then you're going to make some music, yeah?"

"After my birthday."

Damien leans back enough to look Adam in the eye and, grinning, arches a brow. "That almost sounds like you've something better to do until then."

A blush steals over Adam's cheeks. He'd curse his fair skin and ginger hair if he thought it'd help even just a little bit.

"Huh." Damien grins and then amends his comment. "Or should I say, some _one_ to do."

"Maybe."

"You dirty dog," Damien laughs. "You've been holding out."

"Maybe," Adam repeats, biting back a grin. "Or maybe it's just that I don't even know what it is yet."

"Uh huh."

"Really."

"I believe you." Then, dropping his arms to his side and stepping back, Damien smirks. "Besides, I can just lurk Twitter, find all your little secrets."

Adam's eyes go wide, his mouth opens and shuts and then opens again. "Oh my god. You did not just say that."

Snorting, Damien asks, "How do you think I kept up your ass for the past six months?"

Laughing, Adam slaps at Damien's arm and shakes his head. "Do not pay attention to that."

"Whatever." Damien reaches down and snags the backpack. "I'm guaranteed pictures and videos and more speculation than a little bit." As they walk outside, he adds, "It's fun."

Opening the car door, Adam huffs another laugh. "Just tell me you don't, like, talk to everyone."

"Hell, no."

"There's that, I guess."

Damien reaches around Adam and tosses the backpack into the backseat. "Call me when you get settled."

"The drive isn't that far."

"I wasn't asking," Damien responds, tone just as dry as Adam's.

"Mother hen," Adam whispers.

Crowding Adam back against the car, Damien nods. "Not denying it. Now kiss me goodbye."

"Not goodbye," Adam murmurs, leaning in and up, bussing his lips along Damien's jaw. "Just 'til Tuesday."

Damien slides one hand around the back of Adam's neck, squeezing and releasing with measured, steady cadence. "At Mr. Black's. Now stop teasing me."

Adam's retort – _bossy man_ – is lost to the pressure, the demand of Damien's lips.

The kiss is unhurried, simple and chaste. Then Damien drags his lips over Adam's cheek and, pressing a kiss to his ear, says. "Go."

He steps back, watching as Adam gets into the car, snaps the seatbelt into place, and then, with a tilt of his head, Damien turns and walks away.

* * *

Adam breaks at the end of the driveway, cutting his eyes up to the rear view mirror as the Mustang eases to a stop. Spying Damien, arms folded across his chest with his hip cocked against the porch rail, Adam's quirks his lips into a soft smile. He guns the engine once, laughing outright when Damien shakes his head and smiles.

Then he pulls away from Damien and focuses on himself, tries to see what everyone else will see. His hair is too long, in need of a one-on-one meet-up with his stylist, and he could use some serious face time with a razor. He's scruffy in a way that he never lets the public see. But the truth is in his eyes.

The truth is running right at the surface for anyone who _wants_ to see it.

Mixed in and melded with the usual determination is a lazy, relaxed softness. A look that, after months on the road, Adam doesn't even recognize as his.

Picking up his phone, he taps out a quick text to his mom and then, smirking, guns the engine again. Throwing gravel with his tires, Adam peals out onto the highway.

It's time to go home.

* * end * *


End file.
